Artist's Proof
by youaremarvelous
Summary: AU Spain x Romano. Sequel to Numbered Lithograph. In 1796 the process of lithography was invented, based on the principle that grease and water do not mix. Lovino and Antonio's relationship isn't perfect: their house is falling in around them, they argue and probably drink too much; but if oil and water can produce something beautiful, there's hope for them, too.


Lovino sighs when a guttural snore pierces the silence of the dark bedroom.

"Toni," He snaps in a sharp whisper and kicks the leg of the body next to him, "you're snoring."

"Huh, wha-" Antonio yelps mid-snore.

"Snoring." Lovino doesn't bother hiding his exasperation as he rubs his hands over his burning eyes.

"Me?"

Lovino flings his arms back to his sides, shaking the mattress with the force, and throws a glare to his fiancé. "No, the bogeyman. Obviously." He says, and then, after a beat, "are you even serious?"

Antonio just smiles and props himself up on one elbow as Lovino says, "you are the biggest fucking idiot I know, thank god you're pretty."

"You having trouble sleeping again?" Antonio asks and brushes a stray hair from his boyfriend's forehead.

"Nuh-uh, no, you're not allowed to try and make this _my _problem." Lovino argues and turns his body away. "I got you those nose strip things for a reason, you know. You could at least try them."

"I did try them but I really hate the smell of menthol."

"Well I really hate getting my sleep disturbed every night by the sound of a wounded warthog. I had a dream the other night that I was getting choked by a bear with a bad head cold and-this isn't funny!" Lovino snaps when Antonio collapses back into his pillow, laughing.

"It sort of is," Antonio chokes out between giggles.

"Oh, you're asking for it!" Lovino pounces on his partner, straddling his body and holding his pillow over his struggling fiancé's head. "I tried to warn you not to cross me, and now I'm afraid you must die!"

Antonio waves his arms around in fake distress before going limp. Lovino removes the pillow, shrugs, and tells him "that's what you get." He starts to crawl back to his side of the bed, only to have a newly revived Antonio grab him by the waist.

"Oh no you don't," Antonio says, tickling Lovino's sides until the younger man relents his struggle and allows his fiancé to pin him to the mattress. "You thought you had bested me, but little did you know, I've been harboring a dormant zombie gene!"

Lovino yelps as Antonio bends down and play bites his neck, "'dormant zombie gene?' Is that seriously the best you can come up with?"

Antonio ignores him and travels up his face, nipping and growling. "Me zombie. Me eat Lovi."

"Zombies don't talk," Lovino argues while fighting back a smile. He opens his mouth to say, 'well maybe some zombies can, but they don't sound like the Cookie Monster when they do it,' but Antonio makes it up to his mouth and bites his lower lip and the words are lost in the back of his throat.

Lovino leans into the kiss, heart pounding as Antonio grabs his face with his hand and guides him down to the mattress. His lips are slick and tingling when Antonio pulls away, kissing his neck, his clavicle, his stomach, before sitting back and shaking his hair out of his eyes, looking like a man possessed.

Lovino understands what that look means and pushes himself up slightly, shaking himself out of his stupor. "H-hey," he says, breath hitching, "not tonight."

Antonio grabs Lovino by the waist and slips his fingers under the elastic waistband of his sleep pants. "Me zombie. Me want Lovi."

"Hey" Lovino says louder this time and kicks his legs out of Antonio's grip, "I'm serious, Toni!"

Antonio releases his fiancé's hips and stares at him for a while, panting and licking his lips as if trying to determine if this is part of the game or not. "Did I do something wrong?"

Lovino just moans and covers his face with his hands.

"Are you mad at me?"

Lovino moans louder and throws a pillow over his face. "Why do you always think I'm mad at you, just because I don't want sex doesn't mean I'm mad."

Antonio lets his body flop down beside his fiancé's and gently pries the pillow out of his grip. "It's just that it's been a while."

Lovino knows it's true, but his cheeks burn, anyway. "I've been tired."

"That's because you do too much. I keep telling you, 'Rome wasn't build in a day.'"

"Yeah, and that's so helpful."

"Babe," Antonio says and turns towards Lovino, watching his face to gauge his mood. "I know we thought we'd have your studio up and running by now, but we'll get there, eventually."

Lovino rolls his eyes, "Eventually. Right. We can't even keep up with house repairs, how exactly are we going to fork up money for an intaglio press?"

"Maybe we can get the bank to issue us another loan-"

"We're swimming in debt already, Toni, we can't keep borrowing money until we have a means to pay it back."

"We have the café."

"Yeah, and the only customers we ever get are my brother and your stupid friends."

"I'm working on it, babe. 'Rome wasn't built-'"

"Yeah, yeah, Christ. I get it already."

The two lie in silence for a while. Lovino squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe slowly and coax himself into sleep, but he swears he can hear the water-damaged ceiling creaking as it sinks further and further into itself, so he throws the sheet back and pushes himself from the bed. A warm hand wraps around his wrist when he slides his legs free from the tangled comforter.

"Where are you going?"

"Just-bathroom."

"Come back after, okay?"

Lovino steps onto the cold hardwood floor and hesitates, "yeah."

Antonio grunts in return and releases Lovino's wrist before rolling over, taking the entirety of the covers with him. Lovino gnaws on the inside of his cheek as he stands frozen in place, watching Antonio's breath even out into sleep.

He walks to the bathroom as quietly as possible and gingerly closes the door, watching the dark lump of Antonio's still form as long as he can before cutting off contact completely and flicking on the light. Any warmth that Antonio had provided quickly flees under the cold reality of the unfeeling fluorescent glare. In the newly illuminated bathroom, his mind wastes no time in starting up it's familiar litany of repairs and to-dos.

Lovino slumps onto the closed toilet seat and rests his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands as he stares at the peeling and faded tile floor. The house is in despairing states of disrepair. They knew it was an old place when they bought it, that the pipes would have to be replaced eventually and electrical wiring would need to be updated, but at the time the charm outweighed the reality. They were blinded by their affection for each other, it was as if they thought their passion alone would make it all work.

Lovino cringes against his own naivety and feels his stomach roll as he fixates on the chipped veneer of the too-small bathtub. "Stop it," he scolds himself quietly and bends his head into his palm. He rubs his temples and tries to tell himself it's all about perspective. Antonio isn't worried, so why should he be?

Of course, Antonio has a kitchen. They may not have an abundance of customers ("yet," Antonio would be quick to remind), but at least he has a stove and an oven and a fucking immersion hand blender. Lovino can't remember the last time he was able to sit down with his sketchbook. He'd agreed to help Antonio out in the café until they had enough customers to afford an employee, but it's been months and he's starting to resent waking up to the smell of freshly ground fair trade coffee beans instead of mineral spirits and asphaltum.

He wonders how much he's supposed to sacrifice for love, but he isn't sure if it's Antonio or his art that he's considering forfeiting, so he pushes the thought back and focuses instead on the crooked door frame.

Finally, when Lovino's heart has settled to a normal pace, he stretches and yawns and rises from the toilet. He turns the bathroom light off and eases the bathroom door open, standing in the doorway as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The black silhouette of the bed slowly emerges from the depths of the bedroom and Lovino finds himself walking past it, into their small living room. He collapses into the loveseat and curls his knees into his chest.

Antonio hates when he sleeps on the couch, but it's the only place he can get any sleep lately. He doesn't think about why that is, he doesn't want to know. He tells Antonio it's the snoring, but they both know that isn't the whole truth.

Lovino closes his eyes and tells himself he'll just get a quick nap and return to the bed before Antonio even realizes he's gone. He falls asleep quickly and dreams of zombies tearing apart his house, plank by plank, and when he wakes up, the sun streams through fogged double pane windows and the smell of coffee wafts through the air like a warning.


End file.
